Lackadaisical
by beachLEMON
Summary: Jay's been a bad influence on Emma. And lord knows Craig's been a bad influence on every girl ever, including Manny. But who's to prove that teenagers don't love to be a little cliche... To be a little bit bad? Rated R. JayEmma, CraigManny
1. Her Days are Numbered

**_Lackadaisical_**

_Chapter One: Her Days Are Numbered_

_

* * *

_

"Hey, Cause Girl," he smirked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder instinctively. She stopped, but her eyes bore into him with pure agitation.

"Is that supposed to flatter me? Because if it is, you're going about it completely the wrong way. You should've called me Green Peace first then offered me a ride to the ravine to the _help the environment_," she bit back sarcastically. "Go away, Jay."

"Hey," he stopped, smirk off his face. "I was just saying hi."

"Hi," Emma offered, immediately walking away, arms wrapped protectively around her notebooks.

"We're getting together tonight," Jay called after her, adjusting his hat. "I'll see you there."

It wasn't a question, and Emma purposefully didn't look back to throw her pseudo fuck buddy a dirty look or unpleasant hand gesture. He was too cocky, too sure of himself. After all that had happened with Alex and Amy and, most of all, with _her_, he still didn't think himself any less desirable or right.

Opening her locker, Emma threw in her binders and plucked out a lose index card with her doctor's name printed at the top. Looking up at the spot where Jay stood, she decided there and then that it was time to stop what she'd been doing. She'd alienated her family, her friends. Manny had tried to warn her, to console her, and she just pushed her away. Granted, Manny did the same when she'd had her Craig drama, but she wasn't like that. She was the sweet friendly girl that everyone loved and counted on. She didn't push away the people she loved; the people she'd die for and who would most certainly die for her.

She didn't push all the good, stable things in her life away for Jason Hogart.

* * *

"Manuela Santos," a voice greeted her over her shoulder. Manny smiled and flipped her hair, turning away from her locker.

"James Tiberius Yorke," she replied, grinning triumphantly at his mock-pained look. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing," he characteristically looked down at his shoes before meeting her eyes again, "just thinking about what movie to take Liberty to for our one month anniversary."

"A month," Manny smiled widely. "J.T., you stud. Liberty's a lucky girl."

J.T. grinned and reveled for a moment at having his ex-girlfriend support his new relationship, suppressing the slight pang of annoyance that she wasn't jealous. Then he gave her a comfortable shake of the shoulders and cocky expression. "I'd like to think so. So, any suggestions?"

"Oh, God," Manny rolled her eyes, loading her arm with textbooks while balancing her purse on the opposite shoulder, "sorry that I won't be a bigger help. I haven't been to the movies in ages."

"No," J.T. placed a hand to his heart mockingly, "Manny doesn't have a new guy in her life to take her wherever her heart desires? Is the sky still blue? Is the sun still warm? Do the Maple Leafs still play hockey?"

"J.T., are you mocking me?" Manny raised her eyebrows, chuckling on the inside as she closed her locker door with her hip. "Because you know I'm not buying your sweet little innocent thing. I won't show you any mercy just because we used to go out; I can still kick your ass."

"Whoa," he raised his palms in surrender, "someone's hostile. Really, is this what a man-less Manny looks like because I think I should just stop some guy off the street right now and pay him to—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she threatened, shoving him clear into the middle of the hallway with her textbooks offering leverage. J.T. laughed and threw his palms up once more in defeat before leaning next to her against the wall of lockers.

"What?" she asked, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes again. "I don't know why you're so interested, but if you must know, there's nobody right now. After the whole Spinner thing I just needed to be by myself, you know?"

J.T. nodded with depth of understanding he had yet to acquire and raised his eyebrows at Spinner's name. "Yeah, not having the best luck, are you? Especially since you gave _me_ up, I assume it all just went downhill from there—"

"Goodbye," Manny made a show of leaving, grinning when he blockaded her path. "Are you finished?"

"I wouldn't worry about it, if I were you," J.T. advised. "Flying solo for a while isn't the end of the world. Besides," he added as he spotted Liberty approaching over Manny's shoulder, "you might find that the one you're looking for was under your nose the whole time."

Liberty beamed, relaxing under J.T.'s promptly outstretched arm that he hooked over her shoulder as she leaned in to peck him softly on the lips. "You are just so sweet, pumpkin," she cooed.

"Only because you deserve it," he replied, grinning at her pleased expression.

Finally, Liberty turned her head to the third present party. "Hey, Manny."

"You guys make me sick," Manny shook her head, grinning slightly as she walked around the couple. "And jealous."

* * *

Emma stepped around the empty beer bottles lit by the everlasting bonfires she'd seen so many nights before. The picnic tables seemed grimy to her; grimy and unclean, and toxic. The people seemed even more toxic and the abundance of vans and cars with spacious back seats parked around the area made for such a surreal view that, like the first time she'd come to that spot, she wondered how it was possible that such an infested area was part of her town.

Now, as she searched for him through the smoky light, she knew that innocence could be lost at any moment. It was always teetering over the edge, just waiting to be encouraged by anything.

It was never safe like she'd thought before. Back when she _was_ Green Peace; when she was proud to be Cause Girl, she hadn't believed such places existed because she didn't want to.

She didn't know what had made her want to.

Emma felt a slight tap on her shoulder and she swallowed heavily beneath her knitted sweater before turning her head. Looking into the eyes of the boy with the backwards cap, she had a slight suspicion at what made her want to.

"I knew you'd come," he said, and despite his best intentions to sound neutral, she was already offended and on the defense. Pulling away from his touch, she turned to face him completely and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I didn't come here to give you head if that's what you had your heart set on," she spat bitterly, and Jay seemed to recoil. His lips curved into a small smirk and she recognized a bit of the old Jay that wouldn't let her touch him with a ten foot pole.

"Such harsh language, Emma Nelson," he muttered into her ear, smiling, and when she stepped back, clearly not amused at his presumption that what she'd said was a joke, he didn't advance upon her. "Why'd you come here, then?"

She wondered when she'd stop being surprised at Jay's transparent and shallow attitude toward everything. When she told him upfront that she wasn't at the ravine to join him in the van, to earn bracelets, she'd expected an "I know" or "It's okay" or "I wasn't waiting for it." Of course, Jay asked why _else_ she'd come. It was such a stretch for him to think that maybe she didn't want to blow him after he'd infected her and ignored the fact that it poisoned her health and reputation.

She wondered when she'd stop expecting things from him so that she wouldn't delude herself into thinking she was in a relationship.

"Not for you," she retorted without giving it much thought, and then reveled for a second in the steely look on Jay's face. Oh, he expected her to play nice, did he? But he didn't say anything right away. He stared at her long and hard, uncharacteristically studiously, then licked his lips and looked up at the sound of the van door sliding open.

"Then why?"

This was said less harshly and Emma finally saw an opening to clumsily explain her reasoning for coming that she didn't quite understand herself.

"I—"

"Do you want to sit down?" Jay asked, motioning to the picnic table they had sat on last time, and Emma stared at it for a moment before shaking her head.

"No… um, I don't have a lot of time," she muttered, looking up at him shyly. "I told my mom I had an emergency and had to go to the drugstore."

Jay nodded his head, but never took his eyes off of her. The staring really unsettled her because staring had usually been a positive thing in Emma's book. When Sean stared, it meant he was thinking about how pretty she looked in her new outfit. When Chris stared, it meant he was wondering which fruit her hair smelled like that morning.

When Jay stared, he was probably thinking about who to fuck next after she had her little heart-to-heart with him.

"I never want to come here and be with you again," Emma finally spoke, looking Jay dead in the eye. "I don't want to touch you. I don't want you to touch me and I don't want you to talk about me to any of your friends."

Jay raised an eyebrow as she spoke and looked down at his shoes, obviously preparing a retort but biting his tongue. "_That's_ what you came here to tell me?"

Emma gauged his reaction carefully, watching for any signs of emotion, any spark of caring, any trace of humanity. But there was nothing in his face she was looking for, so she folded her arms across her chest and nodded.

"Yes, that's what I wanted to say," she replied. She wondered if he was going to get impossibly angry with her and tell her she was a stupid selfish slut like she'd seen in so many television shows. To say that she didn't know Jay Hogart was to utter the understatement of the century and, because she didn't anyone _like_ him, she couldn't begin to predict what his reaction to something like that could be.

To her surprise, he simply nodded, a very professional air entering his demeanor.

"Okay," he said, nodded one last time and turned around, walking off in the darkness.

He spoke to her as if she was his accountant who told him she was going on vacation Thursday and wouldn't be able to take his financial calls until Sunday. He'd been so cold without actually being cold, and so detached, and now that she thought about it, she wasn't all that surprised that he reacted the way he did. It wasn't like she meant anything to him anyway.

Despite herself, she found herself staring in the direction that Jay left, watching to see if he picked up any girls.

* * *

"Previous place of employment," Manny muttered, biting her lip nervously and twirling the pen in her hand. "Choreographer at dance camp?" She furrowed her brows. "Well, the girls _did_ take me out for burritos afterward, so that's _kind_ of a job…"

"Manny!" a surprised voice startled her contemplative thoughts and she heard the door slam behind its owner. Whirling around, she had to fight hard from rolling her eyes and asking why God enjoyed playing cruel jokes on _her_. "What ar—what are you doing here?"

Not even faking a smile, she held up the sheet of paper she'd been hunched over. "Job application. They need a mail room clerk and who better qualified to do an entry-level, minimum wage job than me?"

Craig put his lips together a few times in one of his quirky grins before answering, "Well, no one, I guess. You looking to work the summer shift?"

Manny nodded, not quite enjoying the small talk. "Afraid so. I wanted to go on a cruise to the Bahamas and all was going well until my mom said that I'd have to pay for anything I will ever want—ever—with my own money. And since I don't have my own money, I'm hoping Fender Buzz Inc. will have it."

"I know what you mean," Craig sympathized airily, obviously spinning out of control with the exchange of niceties he'd initiated. "If we hadn't won that competition and had recording this summer, Joey would be shoving me out the door to find a job. Doesn't trust me at the dealership anymore." He had begun to sound like he was talking more to himself than Manny, and she noticed, head poised over the application once more.

"So, uh, you know I know Landon, the producer," Craig cleared his throat, switching his guitar case to hold with the left hand. "I could put in a good word for you, if you want."

Manny shook her head. "Oh, Craig, no. You don't have to… Well, ok. Sure. That would be great, thanks." She didn't want any help from him, or anything to do with him, honestly. She just wanted to work at a non-food or pet-related place where she was comfortable. But when Craig's face fell so obviously as she was turning him down, she couldn't say no.

"Don't mention it."

And she didn't want to. She hadn't wanted to mention anything to him or about him for a long time and she liked to keep it that way, but here he was, showing up at the place she wanted to work, invading her space with the distinct Craig-ness that she so fondly remembered loving.

Grimacing inwardly at the word 'loving' and where that got her, she steeled herself for the worst—which was working in extremely tight-knit, close quarters with Craig that, according to her job description, would be impossible—and looked Craig who seemed to be lost in a stare.

He was looking at her like he hadn't seen her in decades and his path toward the recording studio seemed to have been put on the back burner. His brown eyes bore into her brown ones and Manny prayed to God that if she met his eyes, nothing in her stomach would flutter with excitement and anticipation. She hoped on her life that there would be no spark between them that she could giggle about with Emma later because it wouldn't be like that. There wouldn't be any giggling. That would be extreme and brutal _pain_ that rivaled dental surgery without novacane.

Sobering with that comparison, Manny cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Well, I—"

"I don't want things to be weird between us, Manny," Craig voiced suddenly, eyes still boring through her.

Taken aback and, not having thoroughly processed what he said to get properly offended, Manny's eyes cautiously looked up to meet his. Licking her lips, she opened her mouth to say something when the door opened, a strong voice carrying through it followed by the person to whom it belonged.

"Craig, what are you still doing here? The guys are…" Ashley stopped talking as soon as she noticed Manny at a table just within feet of her boyfriend, "…behind us."

Tearing his eyes away from Manny, Craig glanced back at the tall brunette looking questioningly at him. "Oh—oh, I was just going to the studio when I ran into M-Manny. She's, uh, she's applying for a job here, so…"

"Oh." Ashley's eyes roved over Manny's seated form with an air of practiced distaste and finally offered her a small smile that resembled nothing of what people wore on their faces when they were happy.

Manny returned the gesture and looked to the door as the rest of the band stumbled in. Spinner was, of course, next to walk through it because Manny's life wasn't inconvenient enough right then as it was. Noticing Manny, his lips and facial muscles tightened. Giving her a once-over, he glanced at Craig, then turned and pushed past the lead singer into what she presumed was the studio.

Marco entered last, immediately feeling the tense silence as a sign of something unusual and definitely dramatic. Noticing that Spinner was missing, he grinned at Manny.

"Did I miss something extremely uncomfortable and awkward? Because I don't feel like I did."

* * *

"Alex," she called down the hall. "Alex!"

The black-haired girl of that name turned around, nostrils flaring and foot tapping with suppressed anger. "What part of 'Bitch, stay away from me' didn't you understand?" she barked, turning around.

"Alex, will you fucking wait one minute?" Amy grabbed her ex-friend's arm.

"Bitch, don't _touch_ me," Alex growled in a low, quiet voice, prying her arm out of the girl's grasp, and proceeding down the hall again without a second glance.

"Did it ever occur to you that I was completely _wasted_ when I went down on your boyfriend?" Amy shouted, attracting attention from everyone student and teacher in the hall of that wing.

Alex's step faltered but for a moment before she replied bitterly, "And _how_ many blowjobs does that excuse you from then, whore?"

Stepping in front of the girl, Amy took her harsh words without flinching, knowing that she would have said the same. "You _know_ that I'm fucking sorry, Alex. I was never after your boyfriend sober and that's all that counts. I don't even _remember_ blowing him and I know that's not an excuse but maybe you should focus your hating on _him_ who was totally aware of me not being you when I was doing it."

Alex tapped her foot impatiently but didn't move from her spot and continued looking at the floor.

"Or maybe you should hate on the _other_ girl that willingly went down on your boyfriend more than once and earned the bracelets to show for it."

Alex looked up.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ This is my first _Degrassi: The Next Generation_ fanfiction, so if any of you fanatics see timeline discrepancies, it wasn't intentional but works for this story in that specific way I wrote it. The story starts toward the end of Grade 11(Craig)/Grade 10 (Manny) after no particular episode. I don't own any of the characters from the show, so I suppose this is also my disclaimer. This story will continue to be rated R or M or the rating formally known as R—whatever it is has appointed now—for explicit dialogue, sex, and violence. Basically anything bad they don't want to say on Degrassi, this story will say because in real life, it would probably be said by the kids._

_And finally, please do give me your thoughts. I'm going to continue this story regardless of how many reviews I get (mostly while it interests me), but it would be nice to hear what you think. Y'all should be flattered that your opinion is valued as that is so rare nowadays._

_Peace,_

_BeachLemon_


	2. She Just Wanted a Little Something

_**Lackadaisical **_

_Chapter Two: She Just Wanted a Little Something _

_

* * *

_

**Previously:**

Stepping in front of the girl, Amy took her harsh words without flinching, knowing that she would have said the same. "You _know_ that I'm fucking sorry, Alex. I was never after your boyfriend sober and that's all that counts. I don't even _remember_ blowing him and I know that's not an excuse but maybe you should focus your hating on _him_ who was totally aware of me not being you when I was doing it."

Alex tapped her foot impatiently but didn't move from her spot and continued looking at the floor.

"Or maybe you should hate on the _other_ girl that willingly went down on your boyfriend more than once and earned the bracelets to show for it."

Alex looked up.

* * *

_ Two weeks later_

"Please, help the community in any way that you can," Emma's voice rang out through the parking lot, attracting by-standers. Pointing to the decorated posters behind her, she urged, "Donate your blood this Saturday at four o'clock to help the children's hospital serve their patients better and more efficiently. Pick up a pamphlet today to see what you can do to be eligible—or just come by and support a friend that's donating!"

Smiling graciously at the family that approached the foldout table, Emma bumped her hip against Manny's. "Hey, can you get them? I'm out of pamphlets. I'll go and get the key chains from the van while I'm there."

"'Kay," Manny responded, widely grinning at her charges.

Opening the back doors, Emma reached into a sealed box, tearing the plastic wrapping, when she heard someone briefly stop behind her, casting a shadow. Carefully turning around, Emma was met with Jay's retreating back. Folding her arms over her chest nervously, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his regular attire of black clothing and the cocky swagger in his walk as he approached the cigarette shop.

"Think he's got a fake ID to go with those cigarettes?" Manny wondered sarcastically over Emma's shoulder, both girls still staring at Jay.

"He's eighteen," the blonde replied indifferently, moving to remove the key chains from the box. "Is Ellie still out there?"

"Yeah. I just ran out of the weight requirement pamphlets," informed Manny, glancing at Jay's form evident in the store's window. "He's bad news, Em."

Emma looked up at what Manny was observing and rolled her eyes, sticking her head back into the trunk. "No shit. Here are the pamphlets," she handed her two sets.

"You think he knows?"

Emma shrugged her shoulders, fishing out a handful of key chains. "About his psycho girlfriend and her gang? Probably."

"_Ex_-girlfriend," Manny corrected, and at that, Emma glanced once more in the direction of the cigarette shop.

"Whatever. I can handle myself with her and he sure as hell isn't going to defend me," Emma rolled her eyes at Manny dramatically. "My knight in shining armor. What a goddamn joke."

Slamming the trunk closed, the two girls returned to their posts.

"Any guys there that I could lecture _you_ about? Because, honestly, my situation is getting too easy," Emma observed sarcastically, brushing her bangs from her eyes. Manny smiled, but shook her head emphatically.

"No time for guys—and don't _you_ give me that shocked, dying expression. I've had enough mocking to last me a lifetime every time I say that to _anyone_," she pushed a clipboard with a sign-up sheet toward a middle-aged man with an AIDS Walk tee shirt. "I started work at the studio last week and the only guy I see is Bartholomew, the sixty-two year old copy monitor that started work there as a teenager to save up money for the Beatles concert."

Emma's eyes widened. "Are you getting creepy future-related nightmares, because I would be."

Manny sighed. "More than you will ever know. And then there's Craig—"

"Uh oh," Emma sing-songed, sticking a fallen corner of a poster back up. "You want to talk about bad news? Craig's the name of the game."

"I know. I _really_ know," the brunette assured. "It's not like that. He's just always—around."

"And Ashley? I take it she's always around with him?"

Manny shrugged a shoulder. "I haven't seen her since I got the job. Maybe they kicked her out, seeing as her main purpose there was moral support and nothing else." Emma gave Manny a 'whatever you say' look but turned around at Ellie's voice.

"Ashley's in London with her dad this summer," the redhead informed, staring at Manny suspiciously. She looked as if she was daring the girl to say anything against her friend and even think to get away with it unharmed.

To her disappointment, Manny just nodded. "Oh." Emma followed suit.

- - - -

Walking home, Manny and Emma lugged the posters, signs, and shared the weight of the foldout table. Discussing Manny's advancement opportunities in order to rake in more cash, the two of them didn't notice when a red car paused at the stop sign at the nearby intersection.

The driver looked out the window at one of the girls in particular and was about to turn his eyes back to the road when something caught his eyes. He barely put the car into park before leaping.

"What the hell happened?" he shouted.

Emma and Manny promptly looked at Jay standing in front of them. Emma couldn't believe it as she rolled her eyes. "How is it that you're suddenly everywhere I am?"

"Some coincidence," Manny muttered, ready to tell off the tall, lean body in front of them.

"What the fuck is that on your face?" he asked again, reaching down with his hand toward Emma's eye. Before his fingers made contact, she recoiled, eyes burning holes though his.

"It's nothing; don't touch me."

"You should go," Manny suggested none too softly.

"Oh, it's nothing? You always have purple bruises the size of cantaloupes on your face? My mistake," Jay retorted, not even paying any mind to Manny. The brunette, on the other hand, stepped in front of her friend who, although hostile, seemed unable to tell him the brutal things she promised she would in the passing.

"Well, she has them when your girlfriend and her band of girly Nazis attack her after study hall," Manny informed him sassily. "Oh, that's not even the best part. The best part is it's because of _you_. Apparently, Alex is tired of being mad at Amy for helping you cheat on her so they've turned on Emma."

Jay's expression was one of slight confusion and helplessness.

"You should be _so_ proud," she finished with disgust. Finally, the cap-clad head turned to Emma's friend and gave a predatorial once-over.

"I didn't force anyone to suck me off, did I, genius? Your friend here agreed," he stated simply. Off Manny's repulsed look, he added, "And who are you to talk? Weren't you the chick that got knocked up last year?"

Before Manny's hand could make contact with Jay's face, Emma caught it and willed her friend to calm down with her eyes.

"Shut up, Jay," she said lackadaisically. "I can deal with Alex. If she wants to fight, well—you should probably get a look at _her_ face the next time you get the chance. Goodbye."

Pulling Manny's hand along with her, she glanced back to find Jay climbing into his car and angrily speeding down the street, leaving tire marks on the pavement.

"Ugh, can you _believe_ that jerk? To have the nerve to say the things he did about you," the brunette spat. Emma, however, looked straight ahead, not meeting her friend's worked up eyes.

"I can… because they're true," she said quietly. "I don't expect him to walk on eggshells around me; that's not Jay."

"Oh, and you _know_ Jay?" Manny raised her eyebrows before hooking her arm in Emma's. "Listen, Em, there's nothing to know about guys like that except that they're assholes that are ready to fuck anything that walks. They don't think—they don't want to think and they don't care when their deranged girlfriends go after you because they don't feel emotion. So don't let him make you feel guilty."

Prying her arm out of Manny's, the blonde picked up more of the table's weight. "But I _am_ guilty. He didn't _make_ me go with him into that van, Manny. I know you're trying to make me feel better but I did give him blowjobs, okay? And I got fucking gonorrhea and then I treated it. So if anyone is any more sure of the fact that I share the blame in this, it's me. I'm okay with that. I've accepted it or whatever," she rolled her eyes, realizing how Oprah she sounded at that moment. "But blaming him is just going to make me think about him more than I already do and that's not what I need right now."

Manny looked at her tired friend and she knew it wasn't from a day in the sun at the blood drive rally. "Okay."

"Okay? Because I can't handle anymore of this," Emma stopped, speaking quietly, tears welling up in her eyes. "This is so much worse than a breakup because he never loved me and it was never about love or caring." Crying, she stepped into Manny's arms, hooking her chin on her shoulder. "I miss being loved, Manny."

The brunette soothed her friend for a moment before asking, "Did you—you didn't, like, love _him_… did you?"

Letting out a few hoarse chuckles, Emma withdrew from her embrace and wiped her tears. "No, I didn't love him. I'm just being a selfish bitch because I want caring and loving and all that stupid stuff I refuse to watch in movies."

Smiling a small smile, Manny rested her head on her friend's shoulder and sighed. "We can be selfish bitches together because I want all that stupid stuff, too."

- - - -

"Want a ride?" Marco stuck his head out of the window. "I promise I'm a great driver."

Grinning, Manny approached the driver's door and leaned in to inspect the interior. "Sweet ride, Marco. Please don't tell me something illegal here, because last I remember, you didn't have _any_ car."

Rolling his eyes at her good-naturedly, he patted the passenger's leather seat. "Safe to ride, Manuela. My dad let me take it out of the garage for like fourteen minutes, so take advantage of the offer while you can."

"Don't say I never took advantage of you, then," Manny laughed as she got in and loaded her under-arm luggage.

"What's all that stuff?"

"Oh, I was helping Em recruit people for the blood drive this Saturday," she replied, putting the posters in the back seat. "We haven't done something like that together in so long."

"Ah, blood drives," Marco started the engine. "Not my favorite charity functions in the world, but Lord knows we need them. So where is Emma?"

"Walked her home, and was just headed to my house," she replied, pointing at the street perpendicular to the one her house was on.

"Oh. How's work?" Marco asked, giving her a knowing grin. Determined to ignore the bait, Manny smiled at exaggeratedly at him.

"Actually, it's really very—okay," she gave up, laughing at herself.

"Really very okay? Well, that's good. I was worried it was really very terrible, but really very okay is a good sign," Marco teased.

"Shut up," Manny replied. "It's weird, okay? I keep running into Craig on my mail runs. Speaking of which, what the hell do you guys _do_ in that studio that Craig is always off somewhere? Isn't he supposed to, like, _sing_?"

Marco laughed, twirling the wheel easily in his hands. "We're recording the instrumental solos right now, and his bass was the first one we got, so he's pretty much free to do whatever he wants. _Unfortunately _for _some_ people."

Smacking him, Manny opened the door and retrieved her posters as Marco pulled up to her house.

"Thanks, Marco."

He grinned that big smile of his. "Don't worry about it."

"Hey, when you're done with your recording," Manny stuck her head in the window, "come down to the mail room and keep me company. Lord knows Bartholomew won't mind and… we haven't hung out in what seems like forever. I miss you."

"You just want to know about my latest guy, Santos," Marco narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't think you can fool me."

She gave him a pseudo-innocent look. "Did I ever deny wanting to, because I really don't think I did."

- - - -

"Emma."

Said girl turned toward the kitchen at the sound of her voice as she walked through the front door.

"Hold on, Dad, I just need to drop this stupid table off somewhere," she explained, leaning it against the living room wall, mentally noting to lug it downstairs later. "Okay. What's up?"

Archibald Simpson was seated at the kitchen with no food in front of him, hands folded in that space instead, looking extremely calm and foreshadowing a serious talk that Emma had no foreseen.

Raising an eyebrow, she took a seat across from him, almost worriedly. "What's wrong? Is it Mom—where is she?"

"Your mother's fine, Emma; she's at work. It's not about that," he explained, looking down in difficulty, then regaining the hard voice he thought suitable for such a talk. "When you… were treated after the outbreak at school, Emma, I thought we were out of the forest. You promised your mother and me that you were done running around with peculiar boys and sneaking out at night. You _promised_ us, remember that?"

"Well, yeah," she answered cautiously, wondering if that was some kind of trick question. "Why? What are you insinuating?"

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm just looking at the facts," Archie answered.

"Which are…"

"Not twenty minutes ago, a boy in a black baseball hat came to our door asking for you," he revealed slowly, never breaking eye contact with his daughter. "That boy, if I'm not mistaken, was the very same that was in the middle of the outbreak at school and the same boy that I saw you talking with in the library. Jason Hogart. Is that right?"

Sighing heavily, Emma shook her head emphatically. "I know you're concerned, Dad, but you _have_ to believe me, I'm _done_ with that—with him. I don't know _why_ he came to our house, but I didn't invite him, and don't in any way think that I'm breaking my promise. I'm not hanging around with Jay anymore. Not at all."

"Emma, if you're lying to me—"

"I'm _not_. Look, I know I haven't given you much reason to believe me seeing as—well, what happened last month. But I'm _not_ lying. I _know_ that Jay is just trouble and I told him that. He's probably upset or mad or something."

Archie relaxed a bit, lips not as tight.

"Is he bothering you, then? Because you know if he is, all you have to do is tell me and I'll—"

"Dad, he's not. Just—please let me handle this. He'll never come to our door again, okay? I promised you that I was done with all of that and I _am_. I'm the same Emma you knew so long ago, okay? It's just me." Rising, she crossed the distance between her and her stepfather, enveloping him in an awkward sideways embrace. She felt him relax and pat her arm in forgiveness.

"I'm going to go and put the blood drive stuff away and then call Manny, okay?"

"Didn't you just spend the entire day with Manny?" Archie teased, tension gone from his voice. "Still you want to call her as soon as you get home?"

"Thanks for your input, Dad," Emma responded wryly, taking the posters down to her room.

As soon as the door slammed behind her, the smile was gone from her face, and she leaned back against the wooden slab. Taking a few steadying breaths, she couldn't help herself but slide down to the floor at the top of the stairs and felt her personal recovery being invaded.

When she was finally coming to terms with putting her rebellion behind her and reconciling with her parents once again, he just wouldn't leave her in peace. Did he really hate her that much that he couldn't respect that she wanted nothing to do with him? Did he really just want to constantly remind her of what an idiot she had been and what a disturbance his presence in her life had caused her?

Feeling around for the cordless telephone she snagged from the living room, Emma dialed a few key numbers from memory and pressed the phone to her ear, breathing heavily and nostrils flaring, grief replaced by anger.

"Jay Hogart, I'm going to kill you."


	3. She's Been Through It

**_Lackadaisical_**

_Chapter Three: She's Been Through It_

_

* * *

_

**Previously:**

When she was finally coming to terms with putting her rebellion behind her and reconciling with her parents once again, he just wouldn't leave her in peace. Did he really hate her that much that he couldn't respect that she wanted nothing to do with him? Did he really just want to constantly remind her of what an idiot she had been and what a disturbance his presence in her life had caused her?

Feeling around for the cordless telephone she snagged from the living room, Emma dialed a few key numbers from memory and pressed the phone to her ear, breathing heavily and nostrils flaring, grief replaced by anger.

"Jay Hogart, I'm going to kill you."

* * *

"Manuela, they loaded your cart with the mail," Bartholomew announced in an important voice, waiting for her to leave the room. Manny figured he had some authoritative complex since he'd been with Fender Buzz Inc. for so long and received no legitimate promotion. He always liked to act the boss around the new employees, imagining that some sort of seniority had developed due to his long stay with the firm.

"Thanks, and you can call me Manny," she answered, taking her post behind the cart with a glum expression. Bartholomew raised eyebrow at her studiously, then put down his Xerox paper and turned to her completely.

"Are you a man?" he inquired in a condescending voice. Manny blanched.

"What? No! I—"

"Are you Manuela?" he continued, eyes piercing her professionally.

"Well, _yes_, but I—"

"All right, then. Manuela, they loaded your cart with the mail," he repeated pointedly, eyebrows at hairline level. Manny moved to open her mouth but nothing of intelligence came out as she fought the immense shock and speechlessness that hit her like a wave.

"I… I'm just going to… go," she finally managed, shaking her head as if to mentally erase the memory of the last minute's conversation. "Goodbye, Bartholomew."

- - - -

She stood up, pacing to keep from blowing up at the unanswered phone signals. Finally, anxiety reaching the breaking point, she heard salvation on the other end.

"_He_llo."

"How _dare_ you come to my house, you _moron_?" Emma immediately launched, eyes shooting fireballs at her blameless walls.

There was a pause. "Gran?"

"Shut up, Jay, or I'm going to personally go over there and beat your smug face in," Emma warned, voice wavering with rage.

He chuckled, "I thought you were _anti_-violence, Evander Holyfield."

"You still have the audacity to joke with me? You're lucky my dad didn't skin you for looking for me," she informed him hotly. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I talked to Alex," was all he said, and Emma's eyes rolled toward the ceiling as she leaned back against the railing. "By the way, I wouldn't want to take you in a fight."

Smirking despite herself, Emma managed, "So I take it you saw her end of the injuries?"

He only chuckled in answer.

"I suggest you leave me alone if you don't want a carbon copy of what Alex has to show for herself," she said quietly, moving to click off her phone.

"Emma," he said, almost pleadingly, "I just wanted to talk to you."

Emma snorted. "To talk? Jay, all we've ever done is invoke the movement of fluids from each other's bodies, okay? We don't _talk_. What could you possibly have to say to me?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Emma shook her head, knowing he'd backed himself into a corner. "What if… what if I wanted to tell that you weren't… just a fuck… for me?"

Blanching, Emma's eyes darted around her room. "And why would you want to tell me something like that?"

"Would you believe me?" and Emma desperately wanted to, an unexplainable urge willing her to say yes.

"Of course not," she replied blandly. "Jay, don't call me and don't come to my house. You're only thinking of your dick as you do this so if you'd like to keep it, I suggest you stay away from me."

It became very silent as she pushed the off button on her telephone.

- - - -

"Um… Mr. Weathers? I… I'm sorry, I just—you weren't in your office and this says it's urgent, so I…" Manny stumbled over her words as multiple sets of eyes watched her ruin a perfectly good recording session. The one and only Mr. Landon Weathers rolled his eyes as he threw off his headphones and stopped recording, obviously not mouthing very pleasant words behind the soundproof glass.

"Who the hell is _she_?" he asked, irritated, as soon as he stepped out from behind the control board. "Who let her in? Miriam!"

"Wait—I'm sorry, um, but I deliver the mail and this envelope said it was urgent and you weren't in your office, Mr. Weathers," Manny repeated, wishing she'd just dissolve into a puddle right then. The band watched her stumble out of the situation with an angry Landon piercing her with his gaze.

Snatching the envelope from her, he tore off the top with his teeth and spit it out in the direction of the nearest garbage can.

"Take five, guys," he said, emptying the contents into his hand and disappearing from the studio, leaving Manny to breathe heavily and stare at the contemplative guys staring back.

Waving nervously and wearing a tiny smile, she was silently hoping she wouldn't get fired for her interruption when Craig suddenly broke the quiet moment with an awkward laugh.

"Well… that was… good, guys. I think it's going really…_ good_," he tried, the smile on his face fading as he noticed the incredulous look Marco was giving him.

"Good's good," Marco agreed, raising an eyebrow before looking down to tune his guitar.

"But, Spin, uh, you might want to slow it down a bit on the bridge," Craig put in helpfully, eyes watching disappointedly as the drummer seemed to miss the constructive part of his criticism and threw down his drum sticks in a show of big noise and clatter.

"My pace is fine on the bridge. And what do you know about pace or anything, Manning? You've been too busy being somewhere else to sit in on the recording," Spinner rolled his eyes, standing up. "But look, your girlfriend came by to pick you _up_ for your lovely date this evening, so why don't you go on before you spend too much time with the band?"

Manny's mouth dropped open in a similar fashion to Craig's at the drummer's blatant insinuation and sudden outburst, as Marco's eyes darted between the trio confusedly.

"Déjà vu-ing it, Spin? Because Craig didn't do anything," Marco finally defended, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Now, why don't we all just calm down and regroup before Landon gets back. And let Manny get back to her job."

"Yeah—I didn't do _anything_," Craig retorted incredulously as Marco inspired him with the right words. "Manny just works here—I don't even—I have a _girlfriend._"

Spinner laughed joylessly and gave Craig a look of lost respect. "Oh, and that's stopped you before?"

But Craig wasn't about to let this accusation slide without retaliation. "Yeah, that's right. I made a mistake. Now let's think; who _else_ has done that in this room? Is it the hypocrite that's bitching me out at this very moment? _Yes._ I think it _is._"

"Oh yeah?" Spinner challenged, stepping closer to the angry brunette. "Well at least I didn't get the girl _pregnant_—"

"_Hey_," Manny stepped in, causing all three males to turn and look at her in surprise, as though they forgot she was still present in the room.

"Okay, guys, I think we can get this in one more shot—" Landon Weathers speculated as he walked back into the studio, looking up only to be interrupted by the swiftly exiting Spinner.

"I'm _taking five_," he spat bitterly before the door slammed behind him, leaving the remaining occupants of the room to stare at the producer innocently. Landon's eyes roamed over the teenagers suspiciously before they finally settled on the sole female.

"Did she cause that?" he pointed to the door. The remaining boys looked at the ground, thinking of what to say, and Manny looked as though she was about to defend herself but Landon's voice cut her off. "Who _are_ you? You come in here, you ruin the recording session that would've been _it_ for the day, and now you chase away the drummer?"

Manny looked ready to run, but very not ready to answer. Landon snapped his fingers.

"Name."

"M-Manuela Santos," she answered nervously, "sir. I—I deliver the… mail."

Landon nodded understandingly, leaning closer to her face. "Well, Manuela Santos that delivers the mail… I want you _out_ of this studio and delivering the mail _out there_, got it? Because as far as you're concerned, there is no one here to deliver to in here, okay? Your messenger little self will never come in here to give me the mail because I only receive mail out there—in my office. Not here." His words were exaggerated and condescending and Marco looked to the side, irritated at seeing the essence of his producer. "Are we clear?"

Swallowing her pride, Manny took a hold of her mail cart and moved toward the door. "Very, Mr. Weathers."

"Now," Landon's voice got softer and softer as she moved further away, "who's going to get our drummer back here? Marco?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good man."

- - - -

"Honey, you didn't tell me anything about this," Christine Nelson's eyebrows furrowed as she held up the plain white envelope with the address printed at the top left-hand corner. "Which class was it? I thought you were doing great."

Emma looked confused at where her mother was going with this before taking hold of the envelope and grinning in recognition.

"I'm not going to summer school because I _failed_ anything, Mom," she declared informatively. "I'm just T.A.ing for some extra credits."

Spike's eyebrows settled cautiously and she attempted to peek inside the contents from her place behind the counter. "Really? In which class will you be a teacher's assistant?"

Emma removed the contents, shrugging. "Um, I don't know. I asked for something math or English related but I said I didn't have a problem with most subjects." Reading the acceptance letter, her finger traced the its straight, lined sentences until she found the words she was looking for and smiled. "Algebra Two."

Spike grinned, nearing her daughter to give her a half hug. "That's great, sweetie. I just hope this doesn't interfere babysitting your brother. You know my shift starts at two-thirty and Snake's been planning to visit his mother for weeks now and he's leaving tomorrow."

"Don't worry," the blonde youth answered, "I've got summer school 'til noon. Then I'm all yours."

Emma smiled but quickly dropped it as a thought occurred to her.

"Hey, Mom, I have to go to school for a little while," she said, grabbing her coat and already heading toward the door.

"Honey, what is it?"

"It's nothing," the blonde answered unconvincingly before looking back toward her mother and smiling like she meant it. "Promise. Be back soon."

Sprinting to Degrassi Community School, Emma couldn't think of anything else but being imprisoned with her worst fear at the moment. She'd wanted nothing to do with it and that plan could very well fall apart with just one sheet of paper.

Running into the Algebra Two classroom, she greeted the teacher and introduced herself as the teacher's assistant before promptly requesting to see the role sheet. She ran her finger down the list and it finally skimmed the very name she'd been dreading.

"Oh, shit," she rolled her eyes.

- - - -

"Manny!" the jogging figure called out after her as she pushed the mail cart angrily, eyes pointed fixed ahead of her. "Manny."

"Don't you know enough to stop while you're ahead?" she asked Craig wearily as he imposed himself upon her route and stood dead in front of her cart.

"I just want to tell you that—"

"Well, I don't want to talk," Manny retorted, eyes meeting his for the first time. "Wouldn't want you to mistake this for a date and then go tell Spinner."

Craig's eyes widened in astonishment. "I didn't tell him anything. It's Spin, Manny, you know how he gets. He's always had this competitive thing with me—especially about you. I—I don't what it is, but…"

"How'd he find out?" Manny's eyes pinned him down and Craig suddenly felt tired of being blamed for all the secrets and all the dramatic Degrassi horseshit.

"I don't know, I don't know, okay?" he replied lazily, leaning against the wall. "He probably saw us run into each other and took it the wrong way. _I_ don't know."

Manny nodded bitterly. "And immediately thought I was fucking you, right? 'Cause I'll always be that easy. Just wait for Craig to be alone in a room and _bam_—I'll be there panting. You two are so sick fighting over me because it's always been to prove who could get more ass. Who's more of a man that he can screw Manny on the side. That's _all_ it's ever been."

She pushed her cart past Craig with a repulsed expression while he stared in her direction.

"You're delusional," he finally concluded calmly. Manny spun around, eyes burning holes into his leather-clad person.

"Right," she folded her arms over her chest. "Because it wasn't like that all. You guys are just angels and I'm the slut that poisoned your lives."

"Manny," Craig approached her, "stop listening to rumors about yourself, okay? Then these conversations would get _a lot_ easier. Maybe it was all like that once but we all paid for that shit, so that's over. Right now, the asshole is Spinner because he's got his Monday morning stick up his ass so he decided to run his mouth about shit that never happened. _I_ wasn't hitting on you; I wasn't insinuating it and I wasn't saying I could fuck you in a second. I have a _girlfriend_. Her name is Ashley, and despite what _we_ were before, we're not a 'we' now. I'm Craig. You're Manny. You work here; I record songs here." He stuck out his hand toward her symbolically. "Nice to meet you."

Manny's arms remained crossed over her chest as she stared down at his outstretched hand. She looked bitter but wounded and he looked avenged, that smug and content look on his face very present. Finally having said and defended himself amidst one of the daily verbal beatings he got from a girl, Craig spun on his heel and headed back toward the studio.

Sighing as Craig turned the corner, Manny reached for her cell phone and dialed a phone number.

"Darcy? Frappucino after work today. Extra large."

- - - -

Bracing herself for what she knew was coming as the students filed into the stuffy, humid classroom, Emma straightened the role sheet and tried to avoid the one name that seemed to staring at her in its printed form. Meeting the eyes of her classmates and acquaintances, she smiled at the ones she knew. As soon as they took their seats, she noted that for an extra surprise, there would be more than one person in the Algebra Two summer session associated with that of one she dreaded.

Catching her off-guard, as the math teacher had already begun his introductions and lightly-veiled detention threats, he came in fluffing up his hair under his hat which he promptly put on. He didn't even notice her as he said some smart-assed thing to his new instructor and took an obscure seat nowhere near his friends, but not particularly near anyone to seem suspicious.

His eyes immediately strayed to the window and the sun that shone temptingly outside before he turned his head toward the front of the class, a feeling of someone staring at him invading his senses.

"And please meet your teacher's assistant this summer who will be taking attendance, grading, and—put that down, Mr. Crevice, I'm very serious—grading, and generally assisting. Emma Nelson."

Emma stood up and looked a surprised Jay Hogart straight in the eye, taking a deep breath. So summer was turning out to be a raging bitch.


	4. And She's Got This Bad Habit

_**Lackadaisical**_

_Chapter Four: And She's Got This Bad Habit_

* * *

**Previously: **

His eyes immediately strayed to the window and the sun that shone temptingly outside before he turned his head toward the front of the class, a feeling of someone staring at him invading his senses.

"And please meet your teacher's assistant this summer who will be taking attendance, grading, and—put that down, Mr. Crevice, I'm very serious—grading, and generally assisting. Emma Nelson."

Emma stood up and looked a surprised Jay Hogart straight in the eye, taking a deep breath. So summer was turning out to be a raging bitch.

* * *

"You know this is bad," Emma said, watching her friend reapply the poignantly red lip-gloss. "You know he's going to be there."

"So what?" Manny feigned indifference, putting down the tube and glancing at her reflection studiously. "I need—no, _deserve_—to party right now. And it just so happens that Marco's having his birthday at Club Quincy. We're _going_."

Raising her eyebrows, Emma uselessly fluffed up her hair to appear as if she was doing something productive, even though she'd been done getting ready a good half hour ago.

"_Okay._ But _you're_ going to be crying about something in an hour and when you are, don't take offense to any 'I told you so's that may come your way," she replied with an amused smile.

Manny turned from the mirror and glared at her best friend, hooking a tan-colored purse over her shoulder and smoothing her hair down in a dignified manner. "Thanks for the support, Em. You're a real pal."

Holding up her hands in surrender, Emma stood up, too. "I'm just saying."

"As am I," Manny responded. Climbing through the basement exit with their skirts hiking up to explicit heights, Emma lowered the pull-out door quietly.

"You know, it just occurred to me why my parents are as neurotic as they are," Emma grinned. "Would it kill us to use the front door?"

Manny frowned at the trap-like door and stood up, inching her skirt down. "Whatever. It's tradition."

Laughing, the blonde follower her friend. "Aye, aye, captain."

- - - -

The music was pulsing and throbbing in the club as the group of age-old friends met up in the center of the dance floor, deaf to everything but the latest pop hit that was blasting from the speakers. Even as they entered, the natural urge to gyrate against a bunch of strangers' crotches and asses kicked in.

Holding her hands above her head, Manny swayed her hips to the drum beat, dipping low occasionally, as she and Emma progressed in a dance-like walk to the grinning and equally dance-entranced Marco.

"Happy birthday!" Marco didn't hear Emma yell, but saw her mouth. He nodded in thanks and lunged to hug her and Manny in appreciation of their arrival.

"VIP room over there!" he replied just as uselessly, but somehow mimed the message to the girls. Another round of nodding ensued, which could have mistaken for head bobbing as the teenagers succumbed to the loud, obnoxious music like wild animals in their natural habitats.

Once again raising her arms above her head, Manny shook her ass and twirled on the dance floor, letting out some of the frustration she'd been feeling that week. With every gyration of her hips, she felt an inch of her body come to life. Throngs of random high school and college kids sandwiched her from all sides, the bodies rubbing up against each other both suggestively and innocently as they all struggled for space and for hormonal relief.

Emma not on a dissimilar wavelength, wagged her slim hips to the exciting, enthralling music, throwing her head back and letting her blonde hair slap the air carelessly. Jumping from the balls of her feet, she closed her eyes and imagined she wasn't restrained at all, wasn't bothered by rules or burdens; as she danced, that's all there was. There was she—dancing, and there were those around her—dancing. It was sweet and erotic and had the tangible but tricky fragrance of freedom attached to it all.

"_I know you're a cannonball!_" Emma mouthed along with the music, rubbing against the crotch of a body that had latched onto hers not too possessively. That was kind of a deciding factor for Emma—grabbiness was not to be tolerated. The body against her back felt nice and sturdy and she morphed her movements from those of jerky, rebellious excitement to more sensual hip twisting. The body seemed to like that, molding against her more carefully than before and holding her with specific intent to move as one, connected being.

Emma's breathing had become ragged as they danced, the songs changing more quickly than she'd ever found them to pass, as she continued to rock to the beat with the mass of people, all pushing and pulling, twisting and groping each other, one particular body groping more personally than the rest. Her tank top wasn't for the winter season, and a good amount of skin was exposed, but she felt hot. A thin sheen of sweat had formulated on her skin and it was molding with that of her partner who had, for similar or other, less innocent reasons, began to sweat as well. Wiping the skin beneath her bangs, she twirled into the arms that belonged to _her_ body—_her _person—and felt herself pulled against him quickly and instinctively. He smelled like smoke, Smirnoff, and manufactured spice.

He was Jay.

Backing away as soon as she'd realized that, he reclaimed his grasp on her hips.

"Let me go," she yelled irritably, glaring at him. "I'm not going to… _you know._"

He grinned patronizingly at her as he did so many times before, possessing that ability to be condescending and still captivating at the same time.

"Will you _shut up_?" he pulled her close and ordered into her ear, his lips bumping against her earlobe somewhat pleasantly, if she should admit so herself. Then he began grinding against her once more, moving perfectly to the beat and nothing more, as if instructing her to just give in and do the same.

Pursing her lips, Emma looked up at his entranced expression, like he was concentrating on the music and just… having some fucking _fun_; she bit the corner of her lip and made a swift decision in her mind. Throwing an arm around his neck, she sidled up his chest, letting him spread her legs with knee and bobbed to the beat, now concentrating more on the feel of their bodies reacting to each other as the music throbbed and pulsated against the sleek floors of the club.

His arms felt good around her, and they felt even better when he readjusted them so that one was in her back pocket and the other was on the small of her back. She felt like he wanted to _hold_ her, to protect her, to show that she was his. It was a fabulous feeling and, had it not been with him, she would have launched herself at his lips already, promising herself that this was the guy for her.

But this _wasn't_ the guy for her. This was Jay. Jay with the famous libido. Jay who could dance like no one's business—but Gonorrhea Jay nonetheless.

_Still_. The _feeling_ felt nice. And she moved even closer to him.

- - - -

Manny had no such luck with identifiable personal suitors, but her luck was somewhat more favorable to Emma's, if she was honest. She'd bumped and ground against the brunette with too much cologne and some certifiable dance skill to speak of; against the blonde with the roaming hands and _extreme _sagging pants; against the older brunette that looked as if he had almost finished college—may he had—and was looking for a little high school nostalgia. Lucky her. _Really_. She switched boys like toilet paper and had a blast doing it as her body was pulled with the turns of the music and pushing of the crowd.

She'd just been thinking about how she needed to find a new boy to dance with, when another sidled up behind her. She closed her eyes and tried to move along with him, but he had no rhythm. No rhythm in his hips, none in his toes. He bumped messily and nervously against, though she had no idea if his dancing deficiency was due to anxiety or just not knowing _how_.

Twirling around to face him, she was subjected to stuttering before her mind even registered who this was.

"M-Manny—wow. I'm sorry," he began to yell into the loud music. "I didn't—_wow.__Sorry_."

She just stared at him, his hands still unconsciously on her hips, wondering how in the world this happened to people. In a club filled with people, she'd get _Craig_ to rub up against her—clumsily, but whatever. She closed her eyes and cursed Emma for always being right. _You know he's going to be there._

Her mind ordered Emma to shut up.

Craig's dark hair was sweaty and sort of matted to his head, and Manny wondered if _that_ was from being nervous, too.

As he tried to move away, the song changed, and he bumped into a body behind him, launching him back at Manny to step on her foot.

"Ow, f—" she restrained herself, hissing into the humid air as she removed her bare, sandaled foot from beneath his sneakered one.

"Sorry… Manny," he said slowly, eyes wide. "You know I didn't mean to, right? I mean—"

"Listen to the music," she ordered, grabbing his baggy sweatshirt in the spot she presumed his hips would be. "Listen to the drum beat, and go with it." Rocking gently with him, they fell apart from the rest of the crowd as they stalled for two drum beats instead of following each individual one. Manny's eyes were trained on his, but her demeanor was more studious than anything. Ever the dance instructor. His eyes were trained on her. Ever the looker.

A few songs had passed, both of them acknowledging them as one big song clumped together, because they hadn't noticed anything but the two of them. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder and a turned to look at Marco's wry grin.

"VIP room, girly. Bring your _friend_," he chuckled to himself, ignoring Manny's pseudo-glare at his presumption. He took off to one of the many side doors in the club and Manny knew they should disentangle and follow him before they got lost.

"We should…" Craig suggested, eyes motioning toward Marco. Manny nodded blankly and pushed through the crowd of people toward the door she saw Marco enter.

Before they went in, Craig put his hand on hers on the doorknob, and she turned, back against the door. Looking her straight in the eye, Craig swallowed.

"What happened out there was just…" He hated that déjà vu feeling he got every time he said that. And that was close to the double digits now.

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Manny either as she raised a single eyebrow and let a small smirk settle upon her shiny lips.

"It was me teaching you how to dance, genius," she replied playfully, though inside she felt some of that familiar annoyance toward him well up. "And you call yourself _musically talented._"

Then she went in.

- - - -

"Happy birthday, _dear Marco…_" the group chorused happily, enjoying the blush that settled on the birthday boy's cheeks, "Happy birthday to _you_!"

Cheers rang out through the darkly lit, cushiony salon that was the VIP room, and Marco blew out the candles on the cake, frowning when they lit back up again. Blowing a second time, he rolled his eyes at the not-so-subtle chuckles reverberating through the room.

"Come on, you guys. What are you, _eight_?" he asked amusedly. "Trick candles?"

"Well considering your ripe, _old_ age of eighteen, we thought it'd be sort of nostalgic," Ellie announced cheekily, receiving a responsive and playful shove in the side. "Okay, presents!"

"Who is _that_?" Marco whispered to Ellie, hands vaguely motioning to a pretty built, definitely cute, comfortably dressed brunette in the corner of the room, eyeing Marco occasionally. Ellie glanced with him and when she answered, she was wearing a knowing grin upon her lips.

"Looks like your first present."

- - - -

"Got to go," she yelled into his ear, pressing her cheek against his without thinking. When she wanted to pull back, he kept her there.

"What for?"

Swallowing, Emma looked up into his eyes as the dance club was finally immersed in the notes of a slow song. "Birthday."

"Yours?"

She smiled. "No."

He let her go completely and they were the only two not even swaying in the room, standing still and looking as though this was the last day they'd ever see each other.

"Stay."

- - - -

"Manny," Emma hissed, tugging the hem of her friend's tank top, "we have to go."

"But—why? And where have _you_ been?" Manny inquired, stirring her virgin drink with a red plastic straw. Taking a look at her friend's flustered expression, she cocked her head to the side and sighed. "Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't," Emma mimicked heartlessly. "Now let's _go_."

"Okay, just let me say 'bye to Marco," the brunette requested, hopping off the bar stool in the VIP room and flouncing off to find her friend. Emma's eyes remained trained to the door she knew Jay wouldn't get through. But still.

Grabbing their jackets, Manny stuffed them over her arm and met Emma at the door.

"What's up?" she yelled through the humid air and still-loud music.

"Later," Emma shouted back, looking pensive and sort of nervous. Manny didn't have a good feeling about that. The blonde was also looking around her as they left the club, and didn't breathe out a normal gulp of air until the outside cold enveloped the two girls. Their cheeks instantly pinkened and Manny began to formulate a plan to get them home.

"So, is it the thirty-eight or the eighteen that goes to your house?" she mumbled absently, looking down the blue-lit block. "Or is it the twenty-seven?"

Emma didn't answer for a bit, easing on her jacket little by little, goosebumps rising on her skin without her acknowledgment. "Let's walk."

Manny whirled around with an incredulous smile on her face. "Walk? But it's like a million blocks to your house."

Emma looked down the block that bled into another block and another beneath the changing streetlights and the eggplant-purple sky. "Not a million."

"Fine," Manny nodded, and hooked her arm in Emma's quickly, starting down the street. "So?"

"What?"

"Don't do that. What happened?"

Shaking her head, Emma didn't meet her friend's eyes. "Nothing. It's stupid."

"Tell me," Manny said, her brows furrowing. Emma shook her head and continued walking in a trance-like way. "Is it Jay? Was he there?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"I think it's the thirty-eight."

- - - -

_Don't be stupid._

_Be with me._

She looked to the side and saw him standing on the other side of the transparent doors. Fingering the corner of the stiff paper, she bit her lip to keep from letting any emotion color her face.

There was something about him.

And she tossed the note into the nearest trash can.

It couldn't have been that special.


End file.
